


Work Song

by muirisc



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness, Scylla Ramshorn-centric, relationship exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muirisc/pseuds/muirisc
Summary: Life had to go on without her parents. And Scylla felt that truth in her bones.(The odyssey of Scylla Ramshorn: where she went, who she loved, and how she burned.)
Relationships: Raelle Collar & Scylla Ramshorn, Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Kudos: 16





	Work Song

**Author's Note:**

> MFS = serotonin, so here we are.
> 
> Exploration of Scylla and Raylla™ Season 1 moments from Scylla's POV (for now), and then whatever post-Season 1 ideas I yeet into the world.

Hot afternoon air drifted through an open window to Scylla’s right. Lounging on the floor, her eyes skimmed the book she’d picked off a shelf in this stranger’s bedroom: _The Odyssey_. This house had a surplus of books to read: a luxury the likes of which Scylla rarely got. 

This civilian family wasn’t due back from vacation for another few days. Scylla and her parents stayed out of sight, only leaving to pick up a few groceries. If they did this right – and they always did – the civilians would never know dodgers had come by. 

They did that a lot. _Borrowed_. Borrowed spaces because even though they weren’t in the army, they weren’t free. Her life had been one long repetition: scout out a new place, hide for a little while, leave it like you found it. Scout, hide, run. _Dodge_. There was no true freedom in that. 

Once she tried to bring it up with her parents. Scylla watched their faces close off, but she continued anyway. 

‘ _There is another_ _option_ ,’ she said. ‘ _The Spree_. _They're_ _fighting for freedom, real freedom!_ _They're_ _trying to do something. We could help.’_

Fear crept into her parents' eyes, so she dropped the subject. Her parents were not fighters, no matter the sides involved. 

And so, Scylla would never tell her parents how much she had already thought about this. How she compared their ideals to the Spree's and saw how they were not so different. 

And Scylla would never tell her parents that she knew where to find the Spree. (It wasn't _that_ hard to find out if you knew where to listen; they were actively recruiting.) But the Spree were far away now, and vigilantism was only that: a far-off ideal. 

And Scylla would never leave her parents. 

On the floor of a stranger's house, Scylla found a kindred spirit among ancient text. A warm breeze ruffled her hair as she mused over her own Odyssey. She wondered what it had in store for her. Wondered if, by the end, her eyes would have the dull look every dodger got after too long on the run. 

A knock on the door frame of the borrowed bedroom startled Scylla from her thoughts. “Can I come in?” 

“But of course,” Scylla replied, putting the book page-down on her stomach. 

Smiling, her mother sat down on the floor beside her. She glanced at the book Scylla had been reading. “ _The Odyssey_. A classic!” 

“Did you get my name from this story?” 

“Are you insinuating something?” 

“I'm not sure," Scylla raised an eyebrow. “Seems foreboding, don't you think?” 

She shot Scylla a look. “Legend has it Homer knew a witch, a witch who looked into the future and saw your name. She told him and thus,” she pointed to Scylla, “he had the name for one of his most beautiful and powerful characters.” 

“Well, she’s also terrifying, so I’m very flattered,” Scylla smirked. “Thank you Homer." 

Her mother smiled. “What can I say? Your father and I have always been mythology buffs.” 

Scylla sighed. “It is fascinating. I wish I had the chance to read stuff like this more often.” Her mother’s face fell, and guilt stung Scylla. “You know, because you love it so much.” 

“Of course.” 

This would always sit between them: the choice her parents made for her. At once both the choice she believed in, and the choice that trapped her. Scylla was grateful for their sacrifice but getting older meant wanting more. 

She looked up at the window letting in fresh air, feeling it cool her off. “Do you have a favorite character?” 

Reaching for the book and holding Scylla’s place, her mother flipped through some of the pages. “Oh, you know me. Everyone in these stories is a mess. But if I must pick, I’m partial to Odysseus and Scylla. Hence your name.” 

“Yeah, I guessed as much.” Scylla smiled. “Why Scylla?” 

“She’s equal parts her real self, and what others make her become. The way she represents dualities is what makes her so intriguing. What is our world if not duality after duality?” 

Scylla loved listening to her mother talk like this; like the academic she was deep down. Her mother deserved that life, not one running from an army she doesn’t believe in. “Are you writing that dissertation soon?” 

“Maybe,” her mother smiled. "Long story-short, I like the name. I like the story.” Taking Scylla’s hand, her mother continued. “I know we’re on quite the odyssey ourselves.” The guilt from making her mother feel bad swirled through Scylla again. “But I know one day it will be over. It _will_. And we’ll be better for it.” 

Scylla nodded. “I know.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Scylla closed her eyes and basked in the calm. This was the most relaxed they’d been since they left a dodger cell in Illinois two months ago. (The last two places they’d stayed boasted running water but offered little else in the way of comfort. Such was the luck of a dodger.) It was such a reprieve that Scylla could almost daydream that they were a normal family. 

A poke on her foot. “We’re cooking a special dinner tonight.” 

“Why?” 

“Just because. It’s time we sat back and enjoyed life, thanked the goddess for her blessings.” Scylla nodded obediently but stayed silent. Her mother leveled her with a fond stare. “I know they can be hard to see.” 

This was a conversation they’d had many times before. Whatever had the goddess done for the Ramshorns? “We wouldn’t have made it this long if we weren’t able to keep sight of what we’re lucky for.” 

“It might be my teenage cynicism, but I’m having a hard time doing that right now.” 

Her mother squeezed the hand she was still holding. “I know. I’ve been there more times than I can count. But good, light, beautiful things can come to us from anywhere. Case in point: you.” Scylla smiled. “Promise me you'll keep your eyes open to see them.” She pulled Scylla into a tight hug. “I love you.” 

Scylla closed her eyes for the hug as several tears escaped. “I love you, too.” 

Her mom pulled back. “Chin up, dear.” Scylla nodded and wiped her eyes. 

Getting up, her mom walked to the doorway. Right before she turned out of sight, a knock sounded on the front door. 

Silence. 

Another knock. 

Her dad appeared in the hallway beside his wife, eyes wide. He motioned to Scylla, then crept toward the door. 

Scylla’s heartbeat picked up, her limbs tensing. Oh, goddess. Not here, not now. 

“Quick!” Her mother hissed. “Scylla please, you need to move!” 

Two more knocks. Her father was only a couple feet from door. 

Scylla skirted down the hall; the garage’s side-door was the closest planned escape route. She opened the garage door quietly, then shot one last look at her parents. They were watching her, anxious and alert. At her halt they nodded encouragingly before turning to face their visitors. As Scylla closed the door behind her, the front door crashed open. 

Muffled voices mixed with the calm tones of her parents. Scylla found a nook of the garage to crouch in where some old paint cans and wood scraps hid her from view. She itched to know what was being said, what the army hunters looked like. And at the same time, the dread curdling in her stomach was already too much to handle. They had never been this close to caught before. 

Seconds ticked by. Minutes. The droning of voices did not stop, did not stutter, but the sounds got louder. She could not tell anymore who spoke what. Even worse, she could not tell what was happening. Scylla tried to calm down, school her breathing like her parents taught, but the more she tried the harder it got. Making herself even smaller, her hands gripped her knees so hard that they started to hurt. 

Then, her mother’s voice rose in a haunting yell. The sound of angry Work, followed by a crash and two thuds. Silence. 

Pain cut through Scylla’s head. It stole her voice, and stopped the scream threatening to escape. No. No, no, no, no, _no_. It wasn’t _them_. It had to be the army’s agents. Her parents must’ve had to fight. 

The door into the garage opened, and years of instinct silenced her further still. Kept her in place. She crouched tighter, slipped deeper into the shadows. Somebody took one step into the garage, but then a voice called from inside the house. “Where are you going? We have to clean this up.” 

Scylla bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. 

“What about the girl? Shouldn’t we look for her?” 

“Our intel didn’t say anything about her whereabouts, and her parents hadn’t seen her.” 

The garage intruder huffed. “And you believe them?” 

“No choice. Either we look, or we clean up our mess. There’s not time for both,” another voice replied from inside the house. “This’ll send a message to their friends. She can carry it for us.” 

“Fine,” the garage intruder answered. The door shut, and voices faded again. 

Scylla drew in a deep breath, shaking violently. Silent tears flowed down her face in a near endless river of grief. 

When all sound from the house was gone, Scylla emerged from hiding. Hands trembling, she turned the handle on the house door with gentle pressure. Still no sound. Step by step, Scylla walked further inside. 

The front door was in place and whole, the broken furniture repaired. There was no sign of a struggle. More importantly, there was no sign of her parents. 

In the silence of the empty house, it was like her parents had never existed at all. 

Warm summer air still drifted through open windows. Outside the neighborhood seemed as calm as it was before the army stormed in. Cold coffee was still sitting in mugs on the kitchen counter. 

Life had to go on without her parents. And Scylla felt that truth in her bones. 

Scylla’s resolve broke, and she crumbled to the floor and cried. She cried, and cried, and did not get up until the sun had set. She did not get up until it felt like she would become one with the floor if she did not move right then. 

As dusk settled, Scylla gathered what the Ramshorns carried from place to place. _The Odyssey_ went back on its shelf. She washed the dirty dishes – no one would know if tears mixed with the water – and left everything as they had found it. 

Once it was dark Scylla snuck out of the house with only her pack. Walking in the shadows, she walked two streets over to an empty lot waiting for development. The family car was still there, waiting. 

Opening the door, Scylla stared at the driver’s seat. This car had carried their family hundreds, thousands of miles. Now it would carry only her. She moved the seat forward, sat down, and the gravity of her situation settled like a thick fog. 

_Survive_. _Be free_. Even now she could hear her mother saying the words. 

Scylla turned the key and the car roared to life. It roared like the inferno in her soul, consuming her heart until she burned hot with equal anger and grief. 

And then she knew where to go. A place to put her energy, her pain, her _anger,_ and turn it into something good. 

The Ramshorn’s car drove off into the night, for the first time heading toward the fight instead of away. 

**Author's Note:**

> And there we have it, my take on Scylla's earlier days. Looking forward to exploring our favorite murder nugget going forward.
> 
> (I don't contribute here or anything, but check out the Motherland: Fort Salem Research Institute for all the deep-dive content you could want. They have great analysis and lay out the show's parallels to The Odyssey and Greek mythology. It's so great, in fact, that I decided to sprinkle some of their research into here. Enjoy!)


End file.
